


Regarding Love and Art

by transziraphale



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone is human and Geordi is blind, It's technically a coffee shop meet-cute but not really, M/M, SURPRISE: everyone is trans, Watch me project on Data like crazy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transziraphale/pseuds/transziraphale
Summary: When a man's an empty kettleHe should be on his mettleAnd yet I'm torn apartJust because I'm presumin'That I could be kind of humanIf I only had a heartData Soong is a human, living a human life, in the 21st Century. Cue one Geordi La Forge to derail everything he thought he knew about his human emotions.





	1. 1 - Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case you somehow missed this on the way in, this is an alternate universe set in the modern day (21st Century). Everyone is a human. You can find pictures of them [HERE](https://translaforge.tumblr.com/tagged/21)
> 
> Enjoy!

Looking up at the sky, Data sighed. He had hoped to take a stroll around the nearby park before catching his train to work, but clouds forming above him warned against it. Sure enough, as he walked down another block, the telltale spots of dark showed up on the ground. Near to the station entrance, Data picked up his pace and crossed the road. The station had a quaint café Data liked. He could take shelter there.

The bell connected to the door chimed as Data pushed his way into the shop, tucked into the far corner of the platform. He pulled off his hat and shook it, dispelling a small fall of water droplets. The view from the window as he stepped in showed Data that he had made it inside at the right time. Dark clouds had gathered together, and the rain quickly got thicker and louder, mingling into the ambiance of the bustle of the café. The rain had brought an extra load of customers into a regularly peaceful café, escaping the weather in the same way as him. Now having plenty of time spare before needing to get to work, Data spotted the single remaining table, a small window booth. After ordering his drink, he settled himself down at it. Through the window, the track glistened in the downpour. With any luck, it would pass before Data got to work. Either way, he didn’t have far to walk from the other station. A little rain wouldn’t bother him.

From inside the café, Data found it hard to discern the outside train announcements, but his seat offered him an easy view of the screen listing the train times set up on the opposite wall. A glance towards the counter showed his drink was ready to collect, so he dropped his briefcase on the table and shrugged his overcoat onto the back of his chair before walking up. He had almost made his way to his plain black coffee when he found himself pitched forwards by something crashing into him from behind.

“Oh, damn, I’m sorry,”

Data felt a hand on his arm and carefully turned to see a handsome face glancing up towards him. It belonged to a man about half a head shorter than him, wearing dark shades that neatly framed his face.

“Did I spill on you?”

Data’s brain attempted to forge a response, but there seemed to be a malfunction. After a lingering pause, he pulled himself together to reply.

“No. You spilled nothing.” An unknown autopilot rose from the depths of his brain to mirror the shorter man’s previous action, awkwardly patting his arm. He hoped that it came out comfortingly, and not creepy in any manner, retracting his hand and returning it to his side. Unaware of Data’s sudden mental turmoil, the stranger let out a low whistle of relief. His expression returned to a smile, gaze fixed a few inches to the left of Data’s face.

“That’s good. You left me worried there for a sec, thought I’d have to pat you down to check.”

Brain still lagging as it seemed to zoom in on the charming smile, Data parsed through the pieces of odd information.

“You are blind,” he said. He immediately winced at the tactlessness of the statement but resisted backtracking. He’d only make matters worse.

“You’re not,” came a quick reply, accompanied by the amused quirk of an eyebrow. A small wave of relief washed over Data. The tone of voice made it clear Data had caused no offense. He remembered his coffee still sitting uncollected on the counter and took it, noting a gaggle of people giving the two of them a wide berth. This lingering crowd had formed a short queue towards the counter where drinks were awaiting collection. Data glanced over to his little window booth to see that the seat opposite the one he had taken remained free. Well, no doubt the briefcase he had set down - taking up the whole table between them - also had something to do with it.

“I have just picked up my drink. Would you like to sit with me? I have a free chair.” Data offered. The man’s hand still on his arm, Data took a short step towards him to allow the huffily impatient woman behind them access to the counter. “I am Data,” he added, as an afterthought. It was only polite to introduce oneself when inviting a total stranger to come to sit with them.

“Why, that’s so kind.” He was still smiling that bright smile, and Data couldn’t help giving a tiny smile back, as aware as he was that the other man could not tell. “Lead the way, Mr. Data.”

Data found his arm being hooked round and linked with the other’s, closing the already short distance between them.

“I’m Geordi. Nice to meet you,” he continued as they walked arm in arm back towards Data’s window table, raising his voice slightly over the café chatter.

“Likewise,” Data returned, “Geordi.” He tested the word in his mouth. “I have not encountered a Geordi before,” he noted.

“Yeah, and I’m sure you know a fistful of Datas.”

“A fair point.”

Despite the sarcastic tone, there was no bite to the banter, and Data warmed considerably to this Geordi. Data rarely valued social company, so this was a remarkable case. It was a pleasant change, so Data mentally put it aside. Once both settled on opposites side of the table, Data tugged his briefcase off the table and tucked it under his chair. He took a short sip of his coffee before setting it down on the table with a clink.

“Would it be impolite to ask why you’re here seemingly without aid?”

Geordi laughed softly, appearing unsurprised at the question.

“I would normally take offense at a suggestion I’m anything less than independent, but I did crash into you - so I understand why you’re asking.” As he talked, Geordi drummed his fingers on the table. “I would normally have at least my cane with me. Today I shouldn’t have needed to bring the thing with me - I thought I’d be out with both canine and human companion.” He paused briefly, hands also coming to a stop. “At least I think Deanna’s human…”

The statement held Data in confused silence for a few moments. “You think your friend is not a human?”

“An alien probably. She’s magic.”

“Alien… magic?” Data echoed, feeling thoroughly lost.

“Yeah, exactly,” Geordi said, clearing up exactly nothing. “Speaking of Deanna, would you keep an eye out for her for me? Sorry to be a pain.”

“Not at all. Will you describe her for me?” Data turned to have a quick scan of the shop. It was still fairly busy, but he was confident he would have been able to pick out a woman searching for Geordi.

“Well, damn. Y’know, I’m not entirely sure I can,” said Geordi. He tilted his head, considering silently for a few moments. “Let’s see. She’s, uh, about my height. Long hair, real fluffy - and she should have my dog, a poodle in a guide vest. That’ll make her stand out for sure.” He ran a hand over his hair, and he let out a sigh.

“We got split up on the train. Penny – that’s my dog – got freaked or something. Probably by how busy it was in the carriage before the doors had even closed. Shot right off and out. I nearly fell flat on my face with her yanking the leash out of my hand. Deanna set me back on my feet then took off after her, seeing as it’s exactly not like I could. Before I worked out exactly what was happening, the doors were closing, and the train started without them back onboard. Some folks next to me who saw the whole thing were getting off at the next stop anyway, so they helped me here. I’ve texted Deanna, I was just aiming to ask the staff at the counter to help me find her when she gets here. Not my fault you were in the way.”

And there was that charming smile back again. Data again smiled back but stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. Would it be odd to tell Geordi that he liked his smile and inform him he smiled back? Unable to decide on anything to say, he lifted his drink to his mouth. The quiet that settled was a comfortable one, with Geordi returning to tapping his fingers on the table, adding to the beat of the rain.

“Where were you traveling to before that interrupted your trip?” Small talk. That was what people did, right? Data could attempt small talk. While he would normally be happy to sit in companionable silence, for once he wanted to hear more.

“Don’t laugh,”

“Why would I laugh?”

“I was going to a painting class.”

Data understood both how someone could find it amusing, and why Geordi would take offense at it being treated a joke. He, however, did not see it that way.

“Intriguing. If you would not mind, I would be very interested in hearing more.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course. The world of creativity has often eluded me. Even through constant attempts at perusing various mediums, I find myself lacking. Perhaps I need a new perspective; you would no doubt provide an almost unique one.”

“Huh. You know, you’re really something else, Data. I like you.”

Data had often been told he was ‘something else’, but never nearly so kindly. He was unsure of what to say – thank you? Was it expected for him to return the compliment, or would that be rude?

Geordi rescued him from his social flailing by talking about his class. Data learned that his aforementioned friend was a counselor, and passionate about art therapy. Geordi laughed about not having any pictures to show Data of his paintings and asked Data about his own attempts at art. The exchange slowly merged into a discussion on the relevance of color theory, which then dissolved into a bizarre argument over whether such methods had Data hypnotized, as Geordi would be immune to its effects.

It was the most interesting conversation Data had had in a long time. People were normally easy to predict in speech patterns and rarely offered any insight he was not already aware of. However, it wasn’t just Geordi’s experience as an artist that Data found interesting. The man was intelligent and showed no restraint in challenging Data’s points or conceptions.

Just as he thought he might continue the discussion forever, the bell chimed again and the motion of the door swinging open drew Data’s eye. A woman walked in, face surrounded by a large fall of curly black hair. Glancing to her side, Data saw she had a poodle standing attentively at her side. With her shiny black coat of curls, the dog – Penny, if Data recalled correctly, which he always did, – bore a somewhat charming resemblance to the woman. Data wondered if Geordi knew. Perhaps he should tell him.

Instead, he said, “Geordi. Your friend is here.” As he spoke, Data stood to meet Deanna’s eye. She had been scanning the shop and stopped as they made eye contact. Data, not wanting to shout across the store, gestured to where Geordi was sitting across from him. Deanna’s eyes lit up, a small smile spreading across her worried expression. She hurriedly wove her way through the tables towards them, Penny trotting close to her side. Data sat back down, updating Geordi on what was happening.

“Geordi!” she exclaimed, as she got reached them. Her voice had a foreign lilt to it, sweet and rhythmic. “I was so worried. Are you okay? Who’s this?”

“I’m all fine, Deanna, really, don’t look so panicked.” Deanna leaned over the table to give Geordi a loose hug, and he patted her back until she released him. “Of course, I can’t actually tell if you look panicked. But you sound pretty worked up.”

She chuckled softly at his joke, expression relaxing. Penny wandered silently under the table, and carefully tucked herself under Geordi’s chair, tail wagging furiously.

“This is Data,” Geordi continued. Data smiled at Deanna and shook her hand. “He’s been kind enough to let me sit with him while I waited for you.”

“Deanna Troi,” she introduced herself, returning a warm smile. “Thank you.”

“I can thank him myself, De.” Geordi teased. “I’m lucky he was at the train station just when I- wait…” he paused, cocking his head slightly to one side. “Data. I can’t believe I didn’t think – train station, you-”

“Train,” finished Data, eyes urgently darting to the departure board, then to the window. “That is my train. I have to- I must go.” He quickly pulled on his coat and hat, picked up his briefcase, and set off away from the table. Hesitating, he doubled back on himself, returning to the side of the table where Deanna had taken his seat.

“It was lovely to meet you, Geordi.” He added. It seemed important, somehow, to let him know.

He heard a distant, “You too, Data!” shouted across the shop as he rushed out.

It wasn’t until Data was safely on the train that he realized he hadn’t even thought to ask Geordi for any way to contact him again. He didn’t even know the other man’s second name. He sighed and shifted slightly in his seat. Why was he so bothered about a simple encounter with a stranger? He met random people constantly, and though his eidetic memory meant he did not forget them, he could not recall any other meeting that had ever stood out.

Data propped his elbow up against the window, leaning his head in his hand. Perhaps this would soon be the same. He’d probably find himself at work having filed the memory to collect dust with the rest.

He was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!! I'm an artist before a writer, but however long it may take me I DO plan on finishing this.  
> You can find me at @translaforge on tumblr, and please don't shy away from talking to me!


	2. 2 - Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know anything outside of research for this fic about journalism and the news business. Feel free to call me out if I’ve made any painful errors. But then again, it's a fic.
> 
> Enjoy!!

A week had passed since Data nearly missed his train, and he had failed miserably in attempting to not dwell on the encounter. It was raining again, and Data blinked at the strange wave of déjà vu as he shook his hat free from droplets of rain. But again, the train arrived, and Data left with just his cup of coffee as fellow company. He could not make his daily commute without thinking about his meeting Geordi. Aware as he was that Geordi even being at the station had been a mistake, and their routes didn’t even overlap at any point, and yet Data was disappointed each time he made the journey without seeing the man. In almost every conversation he compared the other person to Geordi. He felt more prominently static than usual, despite nothing having changed in his schedule.

He was actually busier. A string of illnesses at work left vital reports unwritten, and therefore a small push in extra work. A large distribution of the extra writing fell on Data and the editor, and Data gratefully took the opportunity to distract himself with it.

Data worked at a small news publishing business. The tone of the paper was fact-based in nature, so it suited him well. Throughout the time working on his journalism degree, Data spent a lot of it horrified at tabloids. He seemed to have issues in the opposite direction, receiving constant feedback that his reports read as overly clinical. Undeterred, Data found his niche as copy-editor, proofreading and correcting material before it passed through to print. He made sure all reports were accurate depictions of events, meaning constant extra research. Each other journalist only did the work for their own report; Data needed to be knowledgeable of every aspect of every report that came in. He also edited each report to format a consistent tone across the whole paper, despite each one having different writers with distinct styles. It was boring, repetitive, time-consuming work. He loved it.

The building itself in which he worked was a tall but skinny one, well sized for the mostly local business. Four floors, Data at the top. He worked in an open office he shared with the editor. The main journalists on the floor below often became fairly rowdy during the workday as they constantly bantered back and forth, so Data was content with sharing an office with just Riker. Both he and his boss enjoyed the benefit of bouncing ideas and questions off the other.

He settled himself in front of his computer, his desk neatly ornamented with stationery and various aesthetically pleasing knickknacks. The set-up stationed Riker on the opposite side of the room, enough of a distance for their own individual areas to be discernible. Hours passed, writing in silence, both focused on their work.

Tasha broke the silence, swinging her way dramatically into the room. She pushed the door open with her back, arms loaded with a huge stack of files.

“These need to approval before they I can send them to Quinn, and Nelson said the pictures I chose weren’t right for her article - so I need you to tell her she’s wrong, and these,” Tasha dropped a large pile of loose papers on Riker’s desk with a considerable thud, “are the reports from O’Brien. Couldn’t bother to bring them up himself when he knew I was heading up anyway, lazy bastard.” She grinned, showing no venom behind the insult.

Tasha was their prime photographer and office sweetheart. She charmed everyone and often served as a gel between the departments, running through all of them daily.

“Lovely to see you too, Yar.” Riker didn’t even look up from his forms, the tone of his voice showing a complete lack of focus on Tasha.

“Oh, and I brought you coffee,” she added, setting a large takeaway coffee cup on the desk in front of him. Riker immediately changed stance, leaning back in his chair and offering a dashing smile at Tasha as he picked up the drink.

“Lovely to see you, Yar,” he tried again, dialing the charm up to ten. Data rolled his eyes and turned his eyes back to his monitor screen as Tasha finished talking to Riker and walked over to his desk. She had deposited all but one document she has been carrying when she walked in on Riker’s desk. Left in Tasha’s hand was a thin manila envelope. In the file's corner was a small sticker that Data couldn’t quite read from his angle but presumed was labeling it as for him. Data felt his eyebrows furrow slightly as he let out a short sigh. He’d been waiting on some time constrained documents and had hoped Tasha had come with them. He’d have to go chase them up himself, which really wasn’t his job. Though he knew it wasn’t Tasha’s either.

“My file?” he queried, reaching out his hand.

“Nuh-uh,” Tasha retorted, pulling it back and out of his reach. Data frowned, slightly affronted. He hadn’t been attempting to snatch it, merely being prepared to receive it. “What’s the magic word?”

“Yar, this doesn’t seem neces-”

“Oh? Yar, is it?”

“Tasha. My file, please.” Data put so much of an emphasis on the please that it sounded insincere even to him. He took a small breath in and out, then tried again. “Tasha, may I please have my envelope?”

Instead of handing him the file, or even dropping it on his desk as she had with Riker, Tasha kept it firmly in her grip. She sat herself down on Data’s desk, ignoring his soft protests as she pushed all his pen pots to the back of the table. One leg folded under herself and the other dangling over the edge, Tasha propped up her chin with her hand and leaned close to Data. He leaned back as she moved, turning his face away and attempting to ignore her in favor of the report in front of him.

“What’s got you so grumpy, huh?”

When Data deigned no response, she leaned further forward. She was balancing so precariously that Data worried she would tip over onto himself but shifted his attention back to his work. Hopefully, she would get the point before she ended up on the floor. Or that would serve the point just as nicely.

“Don’t ignore me. You may have everyone else fooled with that ‘no emotions’ nonsense, but I can see something’s eating you.” She paused, squinting at him in concentration as if to read his mind. “Are you still moping over that guy?”

Now that, Data couldn’t just ignore. He knew it was a mistake to confide in Tasha his experience at the coffee shop when he reached work last week. Although, thinking on how much he was still dwelling on it forced him to concede she may have a point. Regardless, he had professionality to consider.

“I do not mope.”

“Sure.” Tasha dramatically stretched the word out, making the mocking clear. The room returned to the quiet clacking of Data tapping at keys as he attempted to continue to ignore her, Riker occasionally sighing and shuffling through his large mound of papers. “What was his name again?” She asked, thickly laying on sweet innocence.

After a short pause and a small sigh, Data took his hands off his keyboard and settled them in his lap, swinging his chair around to face her properly. Before being his colleague, Tasha was his oldest friend. He knew she meant well and was likely trying to encourage him for future social possibilities, but Data couldn’t help continuing to feel despondent about the topic.

“His name was Geordi.”

Riker looked up sharply from his work. “Geordi? Not George, or Jordan?”

“It was definitely Geordi. I commented on the uniqueness of the name -”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Tasha cut in again.

“Indeed,” Data acknowledged. “He pointed out the same thing.” He sighed again and looked back at his screen with his unfinished report. “This is all very irrelevant. We should all return to work,” he said pointedly, plucking his Rubik’s cube from Tasha’s hand as she was about to turn a side. He had it in a pattern she would ruin. She laughed, getting the hint.

“I know a Geordi,” came Riker’s voice, from the other side of the office. “Geordi La Forge. Little guy. We went to high school together.” Data stopped still, hands frozen hovering comically above his keyboard. “Blind.”

“That’s him,” Data said hesitantly, almost not daring to believe it. La Forge. A high school friend of his boss - what were the chances? Tasha drew him away from his shock as she swung herself off the desk with a fake huff of annoyance.

“So much for ‘let’s all get back to work’” she said, dropping the now forgotten file on Data’s desk before throwing her hands up in the air. Then, quick as a flash, she dropped the facade, grinning brightly at Riker. “Data’s got a crush on your Geordi. Spill.”

“I do not have a crush,” Data protested. He faced Riker, explaining. “We met briefly last week. I found him… intriguing.”

“Which is basically I love you in whatever computer language they programmed you in,” Tasha butted in again, talking over Data’s continued attempt at denial. “Riker, I’ve heard him bring up this guy every day since Thursday, and he only met him for half an hour. Tell me you can hook them up.”

“Really, Tasha, that’s hardly appropriate-” Data spluttered, at the same time as Riker said: “You’re in luck.”

Data shut his sentence down immediately, giving Riker space to go on.

“I’m hosting a party, just a get together really, for the mayor this weekend. Geordi will be there. You two should come; it would be a good socializing opportunity, plus a chance to get to know some higher-ups,” he continued.

“Higher than even you, sir?” Tasha smiled, mocking gently. “I didn’t know it was possible. Data and I will definitely be there.”

Data opened his mouth, looked to Riker, who was smiling warmly and closed it again. “Yes.” He said, attempting to sound confident. “I will. Definitely. Come to this… party.”

“Great,” finished Tasha. Still leaning on Riker’s desk, she flicked through his out-box files, pulling out a few folders. “If that’s all settled, I’ll head back down now. Riker, don’t you forget about getting that reformat sent to Quinn. Data. Ask if your boy is single. Yar out.” With that, she walked across the room and out of the door. After watching her leave, Data straightened his keyboard and pulled forward his displaced pens. Unable to source the mental motivation to go back to his report yet, he looked up to see Riker’s piercing gaze already aimed at his direction, an unmistakable smirk on his face.

Aiming for a casual tone, Data pretended to have missed Tasha’s parting advice. “You went to high school with Geordi?” he prompted. “If he’s coming to your party, I assume you’re still close.”

This bought a small chuckle from Riker. “You could say that. I'll let him tell you the story - I’m sure you’d rather hear it from him. If nothing else, it’ll leave you something to talk about.”

“Tell me one thing?”

“Sure,”

“Was he always so–” Data searched for the right word. “–charismatic?”

“Wow. Tasha’s right, you do have it bad.”

“As I believe she would say; Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at @translaforge on tumblr, and [HERE's](https://translaforge.tumblr.com/tagged/21) the art tag for the fic!  
> The next chapter might take a while to come out, but I promise it'll come - plus, the more you talk to me about it, the faster it'll arrive ;)c  
> See you then!


	3. 3 - Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick note that this fic is not beta-d, and any note of grammar/spelling mistakes will be gladly taken in dms  
> Also: alcohol usage/mention in this chapter, but nothing overwhelming  
> Enjoy!

Data stood alone outside Riker’s house. It was 13.7 minutes after the time Riker gave him, which Data had researched to be the ‘correct’ time to come to a ‘party’. He had not visited Riker’s residence before. However, lack of surety concerning being in the right place was not the source of Data’s hesitation. Silhouettes flitted behind the well-lit windows, the clear signs of a gathering. 

What if Geordi did not wish to meet him again? Worse, what if Geordi did not even remember who he was? He was aware his odd complexion often made it easier for people to at least remember or recognize his face, but Geordi did not even have that to remember him by. Was it arrogant to hope that Geordi enjoyed their interaction as much as he had? 

Data knew he was over-thinking - still, it was not an easy thing to suppress. He took a deep breath and firmly shoved away the doubts to a far corner of his mind, shifting his grip on the contribution wine bottle he had brought. He brought his hand up to the door and knocked twice. 

Riker opened it, a smile on his face. 

“Data, so glad you made it!” Riker always looked like he meant these things, but Data hoped he was sincere with him. Data tended not to spend any time on social interactions but found Riker’s company pleasant. Perhaps he should put more effort into spending time with him. 

“I thought I saw someone out there - come in, come in,” Riker continued. He led Data down the corridor and turned into a doorway to a large open room. “Here’s the main room, please, grab something to drink.” He gestured to a table set against the wall with a scattering of drinks on. The room wasn’t overwhelmingly busy, but full enough that Data had to scan to tell if there was anyone he recognized. 

Riker noticed him scanning the room. “Geordi’s not here yet.” Was Data really that obvious? “Here, I’ll introduce you to the mayor, then you can find Tasha and mingle until he gets here.” 

He led Data into the crowd, towards where the throng of people was thickest. 

“Data, may I introduce Jean-Luc Picard, our Mayor” Riker lingered slightly over pronouncing Jean-Luc, relishing the French syllables. 

“Ah, Data, was it? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, but I’ve heard excellent things from Riker. Lovely to meet you.” the man Riker just introduced said. He was an older man, but impeccably dressed. Data recognized him vaguely but was familiar with nothing regarding him past the basics of his political career. 

“Likewise,” Data returned. He then turned to the man standing haughtily behind Picard, head cocked, one hand propped on his hip. “And who may you be, sir?” 

“Polite, aren’t you?” The man looked Data up and down as he spoke, moving closer to Picard. He draped an arm around the mayor’s shoulder, leaning to rest his head to rest on the shorter man’s head. “You may call me Q,” he finished, holding out a hand for Data to shake. 

“Q, behave.” Picard huffed, rolling his shoulder lightly to dislodge the mysteriously named Q. As Data receive an almost concerningly firm handshake from him, Picard cleared his throat, shooting a glare at Q. There was something going on that Data did not understand in the slightest. 

A tap on the shoulder interrupted Data’s mental attempt to work Q out as the man began to speak, something french. It was Riker. As Data looked up at him, he gave a gentle incline of the head to gesture towards the back of the room. Following his gaze, he spotted Geordi. Any attention being paid to translating Q’s low lilt faded utterly away. Coming in from a door opposite to the one Data had entered, Geordi was walking next to Deanna. His glasses were different to the block black shades he had been wearing the first time the two of them had met. Data quickly excused himself from the two older men and snuck his way out of the crowd. As Data walked towards the pair, he could see Geordi’s eyes through the yellow glass, round and white. 

Deanna, of course, noticed him first. 

“Geordi, you’ll never guess who it is.” 

Geordi rolled his eyes. 

“No, De, you know I have no chance of doing that. I hate these gatherings.” 

“It’s your Data,” Deanna continued sweetly, ignoring Geordi’s tone. 

“Data?” Geordi echoed, eyes widening behind his glasses. “Data-Data? Deanna, you better not be messing with me.” 

Data ignored the flutter in his chest from trying to interpret Geordi’s reaction. _Your Data?_

“She is not,” he spoke, smiling and nodding hello to Deanna. “Hello, Geordi.” 

“Data!” Geordi repeated. A greeting, instead of a question. “It is you! What are you doing here?” he paused, fumbling with his cane momentarily to swap hands as he turned to face the source of Data’s voice. “Sorry, that sounded far too rude.” 

“I did not consider it rude. I work with Riker, he invited me to meet Picard.” Technically not a lie. He didn’t want to seem too forward. 

Geordi squeezed Deanna’s arm. “Did you know this?” 

Deanna laughed softly, softly plucking Geordi’s hand off her arm. “You make it sound as if it’s a conspiracy. Will and I try not to talk work in our free time. Why did you not know this? You live here too.” She gestured Data towards Geordi’s now free hand. He obediently shuffled forward and allowed Deanna to link the two of them together. “There’s Will over there, actually; I think I’ll go join him.” 

“Wait, one sec.” Geordi reached back towards where Deanna had been before she moved away. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“My phone? Why would you need my-?” she trailed off, glancing up at Data. “Ah. Of course you can,” she said, fishing in her purse. She pulled out a phone with a neat black case, and after a series of quick flicks, slipped it into Geordi’s front pocket for him. 

“Thanks,” 

“No problem,” she returned. Her voice, already sweet with charm, stretched almost into a song. She made direct eye contact with Data, her smile twitching into a smirk. Data blinked at her, unsure at what she wanted. “You two have fun now – this is a party.” And with that, she quickly slipped away. 

Data tracked her movement as she disappeared, confused. 

“Did I offend your friend?” 

“Definitely not,” Geordi sounded odd somehow. Perhaps annoyed. Whether it was at Deanna or Data himself, he couldn’t quite tell. 

“Ignore whatever that was.” He finished. “It’s so great to find you again.” 

“You too,” Data halted, unable to word his thoughts. The silence between them settled awkwardly on Data’s ears, the two of them surrounded by the hubbub of the busy room. Geordi fiddled with the top of his cane. Arm looped through his own, the movement jostled through to Data, suddenly hyper-aware of the contact. As he continued to rack his brain for something more to say, Geordi spoke first. 

“So,” he started. “You work with Will.” 

“Yes. Will… Riker.” Data clarified. He realized William was Riker's first name, but his brain refused to connect the name Will with the man he worked with, and it sat strangely in his mouth. Geordi grinned widely at that, letting out a small chuckle. “I was unaware you were acquainted until recently. Riker said you attended school together?”

There it was. A thread to start the conversation. Data relaxed as Geordi spoke, settling into the conversation. 

“Right. We were all in most of the same classes: Will, Deanna, and me. Now we all live here. It’s neat for me to have housemates I’m friends with. Well - we’re all close friends, but they’re closer. I don’t know if that makes us a trio or me an awkward third wheel.” He laughed, clearly not holding any resentment over the fact. 

“You live together?” Riker had not mentioned that. Perhaps for good reason. Data felt suddenly odd knowing it was Geordi’s house he was in right then. “That is close, for high school friends.” 

“Yeah, when you put it like that. Dee and I went to college together too though. To be honest, she probably worries over me too much to let me live on my own when there’s space spare.” 

As they talked, the room seemed to flow around them as they stuck to one place. Data vaguely caught Riker constantly appearing and disappearing, greeting and introducing people. Gradually, the crowd of people headed out through the back door round where Geordi and Data had been standing at, congregating in the garden. Filtering past them, numerous people spotted Geordi and greeted him familiarly. Each time he easily responded, smile constantly there. Data marveled at the ease of the chatter. He found himself tugged into the pattern, nodding greetings and politely responding to greetings that headed his way. The mayor momentarily disrupted the smooth flow as he passed, Q still lurking close by his side. 

“Mr. La Forge,” Picard greeted. “Ah, and Mr. Data.” He lingered for a beat, straightening his suit. “Lovely to see you,” he closed abruptly, nodding to Data. Q shot Data a look over his shoulder as the two headed away, wiggling his fingers in a mocking farewell. His other hand rested on Picard’s lower back. 

Geordi shook his head, pulling Data away from trying to work out whether Q was just odd, or acting oddly towards him on purpose. 

“I keep telling him to call me Geordi, and he keeps telling me to call him Jean-Luc, but I can’t imagine it’ll happen.” 

Data considered the statement, fond as he was of using surnames to refer to people. He remembered Tasha bullying him into first-name terms, but with Geordi, he had little choice. Data briefly wondered if he would have been calling him La Forge if they’d met in any other context. It seemed so wrong. 

“I don’t know how much you know about him, but I can’t think of him as anything other than Mr. Picard, our history teacher,” Geordi carried on. “Will seems to manage okay, though.”

“I am a similar way with Riker.” Data admitted. “We made certain attempts to register a more casual relationship, but it did not stick.”

Geordi’s brow crinkled in slight confusion. “Will’s such a goof, I can’t imagine that with him. So, what does he call you? Data’s your first name, right…? Right?” 

Data hesitated a beat too long.

“Picard called you Mr. Data - Have I been calling you by your surname this entire time!?”

The last of the people in the room had finally filtered out, the door swinging shut with no one to hold it open. Data took a breath of the space left in the room’s emptiness. The lack of the hubbub made the hush left deeper, but there still was Geordi. 

“Can we sit?” Data spotted a sleek couch tucked into the far corner. “Everyone else has gone outside.”

Despite seeming somewhat taken aback at Data’s blunt refusal to address his question, Geordi moved on and responded.

“Huh? I guess that’s why it’s so quiet. Sure.”

Unlike in the compact café, this time Geordi lead the way, pulling Data by the arm across the room, making a beeline for the same sofa Data spotted. Letting go of him, Geordi dropped onto the middle of the sofa, bouncing slightly as he landed. Settled, he patted the space next to him, and Data obliged, seating himself in the last space to the end. He let the silence weigh on them for a few moments before opening his mouth and answering Geordi’s previous question.

“I think of Data as my only name,” he quietly confided. Without the murmur of the surrounding crowd, he lowered his voice to a more comfortable level. “You could call it a nickname.” Although it surprised few people on hearing Data was a nickname, it often led to an uncomfortable interrogation. It was easier to just skate around. Data braced himself for Geordi’s response, but what came surprised him. 

“Oh. That makes sense. Why don’t you get it legally changed?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y’know. Just get a Deed Poll. Well, I know it’s not always ‘just’, but…” Geordi dragged to a stop, leaving the sentence unfinished. 

“I must admit I had never thought to,” Data answered in faint shock. When Geordi laid it out so transparently, it seemed absurd that he’d never thought of it himself. 

Geordi let him mull it over in quiet. Data appreciated it, letting not only the concept but Geordi’s respectful and supportive attitude to the whole discussion soak in. The peace lasted a few moments until Geordi spoke up again.

“I nicked Deanna’s phone because she has pictures. Pictures of my art.” He fumbled with his pocket a second, shifting where he sat. Leaning back, he pushed up against Data, who had nowhere to go flush against the arm of the sofa. He couldn’t be sure, but when Geordi stopped fidgeting - phone in hand - he seemed to be closer to Data than before. He flipped open the cover and offered it towards Data. “Do you- do you want to see if you can find any?” 

Data took the phone from where Geordi was holding it out for him, fingers brushing over his briefly as he took it. Geordi startled, dropping the phone into Data’s grasp.

“Sorry, you surprised me - your hands are so cold.”

“Bad circulation.”

As Geordi flexed his hand, raising it to his mouth to blow hot air, Data clicked the phone on. Screen lighting up before him, Data was relieved to notice that Deanna had pre-opened her photo gallery; her fancy brand phone differed from the ones he worked with, and he wasn’t sure he’d have found it himself. Quickly scrolling past her own personal photos, a preview of a colourful canvas caught his eye.

“She has a folder for them,”

Geordi chuckled. “De’s organized like that.”

He clicked it open, and continued to scroll, slowing to look through each photo. The pictures were an equal mix of close-up photos of art, and candid shots of Geordi painting. Trying not to get distracted, Data found himself drawn to two most recent pieces of artwork.

 “This one.” Data swiped between the two pictures, stopping on the latter one. “It looks,” he stopped, searching for the right words. “Like what I believe art should be.”

“Which one?” 

Data looked back to the phone screen. The newest painting had been a detailed but otherwise simple painting of some magnolias, delicately pink. The one displayed on the screen glowed a warm mess of shades of yellow and red. Color scattered the canvas with dots that linked and lined up, comparable to a constellation or network. Data could see how the dried oil paint left a texture across the image, dented brush marks clear. He explained such. 

Geordi looked delighted. 

“It’s like you always know how to say exactly what I’ve always wanted to hear.” 

“I promise you, I only speak my mind. I am not sure I could fake or imitate sincerity.”

“Thanks, Data. Really.” 

A smile spread its way across Geordi’s face. It was a different smile to the one he had fixed on earlier, and Data experienced a strange skip in his chest as if his heart had dropped a beat. That was a smile just for him. His face felt warm, and he wondered if he might be blushing. 

“People act most impressed when I show them my flowers. But all they’re doing is praising my imitation of sight.” He let out a small huff of a laugh. “I don’t care about that.” 

Geordi’s hand was still resting on the chair by Data’s side. Data shifted, looking at it. Slowly, he inched his hand forward, moving to cover his hand with his own.

“DATA!”

The door from the garden suddenly slammed. Geordi, mercifully, could not see Data flinch back and marginally away from him; Tasha’s keen photographer’s eyes, however, missed nothing. She slowed her entry, raising her eyebrows at Data.

 “Riker told me you’d both probably be in here.” 

She giggled. That was unlike her. Moved fully into the room, Data saw she had slung herself loosely over a woman he didn’t recognize. From the slight wobble in her step made it clear she’d had a few too many drinks. 

“Data; Ro!” Tasha gestured to the taller woman, who looked sharply smart in a maroon cocktail dress next to Tasha’s navy suit. A matching hairband pulled back her dark bob, laying bare a large lipstick kiss on her cheek. The shade suspiciously matched Tasha’s own. 

“Who’s this? I don’t believe we’ve met,” Geordi spoke up, thankfully pulling Tasha’s attention away from Data’s miserable attempts at handholding.

“Natasha Yar” she replied, words promptly clear and professional. Tasha was a seasoned socializer and never shied away from an opportunity to network.

“Geordi La Forge.” 

“A delight to meet you, Mr. La Forge. Especially after hearing so much about you from Data.” 

“Oh, really?” Geordi grinned.

Data shot an annoyed look at her. He grudgingly pulled himself up and away from his place next to Geordi on the sofa and put his arm around Tasha’s waist on her free side, releasing Ro from keeping her upright. 

“Heels are so hard to wear, Data. I’m going to take them off,” Tasha fussed, reaching down. 

“You do that,” Data distractedly replied, adjusting their balance as Tasha tangled herself in the straps of kicking off her fancy shoes, losing four inches off her height. He offered a weak smile to Ro, who was watching Tasha with a bemused look on her face. Seeing that Data had control over supporting his friend, she delicately plucked Tasha’s arm from over her shoulder and stepped back. Still silent, she waved a farewell to Tasha, who attempted a distracted mimic of the action, before walking out the way they came in.  

“Bye, Laren!” Tasha called after her, several seconds too late. “Data. Data. It’s ok,” She showed him her arm, jacket sleeve pulled up to the elbow. In marker pen, a string of digits was scrawled across her skin. “I got her number,” she finished triumphantly. She looked down at Geordi, who was still sitting on the couch. She swiveled her head dramatically to Data, exaggeratedly winking. Data sighed, then fished around in his pockets.

“Can you make it to my car by yourself?” he asked her, aiming for a serious but caring tone. Tasha nodded, a spontaneous burst of giggles bubbling up as she grinned at him. Data dropped his keys in her hand, closing her fist around them. “Go. I will be there soon, and I shall drive you home. Do not forget your shoes.” 

Tasha scooped up her shoes by the straps, wrapping her other arm around Data is a loose hug. She repeated her dramatic glance over at Geordi and the wink as she walked backward out of the other door. 

Data let out the sigh he had been holding back. 

“I apologize for the interruption,” he offered to Geordi, sitting back down next to him. “I must go soon.” As he sank into the cushion, Geordi felt over towards him, reaching Data’s knee. He patted it softly, resting his hand there. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughed, a beam of a smile on his face. “She sounded sweet - it’s lovely that you’re looking out for her.” He still hadn’t moved his hand. Data stared it a few beats more, then haltingly put his hand over it, loosely linking fingers. This time, Geordi didn't jolt away. Instead, Geordi’s beam impossibly widened, twisting the link into a snug hold. More people filtered in from the door Tasha flung open, layering over their conversation. The room gradually turned back into a hubbub, and by the time Data reluctantly dragged himself away, he had to negotiate his way through a crowd to get out. 

Back in the cold quiet of outside their house, Data pulled open his car door where Tasha had already settled in the passenger side. She had tucked her legs under herself and stared solemnly in silence at Data as he started the car up.

“You didn’t have to drive me home,” she mumbled, uncharacteristically hesitant, as Data pulled away up the street. “I’m sorry.”

“It is okay,” Data responded. He glanced sideways at her quickly, a rare unbidden smile taking over his face. He hadn’t loosened his vice grip on his own phone since leaving the party, and he briefly raised his hand from the wheel to wave it softly at Tasha. Her face lit up, delightfully echoing Data’s expression.

“I got his number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me at @translaforge on tumblr, and [HERE's](https://translaforge.tumblr.com/tagged/21) the art tag for the fic! There are chapterly art summaries, and requests are gladly taken  
> Next chapter comes as soon as I can make it - see you next time!


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